The Dress
by oh-you-pretty-things
Summary: It was cream and silver, an English winter dream. It was said to actually have silver filigree in its thread. Only, she wasn’t in England and she didn’t care about silver filigree. PreCOTBP fluff. Willabeth.


DISCLAIMER: I don't own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie franchise or any characters associated with the films. They are the property of the Walt Disney Corporation.

It was made from the finest fabrics that money could buy. Chinese watered silk trimmed with Spanish lace and embroidered by hand; it was said to actually have silver filigree in its thread. It was cream and silver, an English winter dream. Only, she wasn't in England and she didn't care about silver filigree.

_Exquisite_, they called it. They told her she looked like an angel. She thought she looked ridiculous. It was only a dress, after all. A dress for another exceedingly dull ball where incredibly boring men, who were more concerned with their wigs than the fact that they were treading on her feet, would fight for a dance with her. It wasn't as though any of them had a chance anyway.

_Make a smart match!_ The ladies always told her so. She couldn't escape it. If it wasn't the matrons, it was her friends; if it wasn't her friends, it was the maids. What exactly was a 'smart match'? Trapping herself as the pretty wife of a much older military man? What could possibly be _smart _about that? No, no. This _dress_ was only going to cause her more grief in the end. More sore toes and a bitten tongue. _Bite your tongue, Elizabeth!_ Her father had her biting her tongue more often than not. What, she wondered, was so wrong about speaking your mind? Why was it that women were viewed as something to be seen and not heard?

The carriage stopped at their destination and she sighed audibly. Her shoulders slumped. What she wouldn't give for a pirate to carry her off right now, for a pirate's life would surely be better than this. At least this ball was being held at Assembly Hall. At least she'd have a view to speak of. It had been a while since she'd been to the Hall. Slowly, surely, she walked by each and every window, carefully avoiding the tramping feet of clumsy men. _There!_ Now that was a view to speak of, for certain! Maybe, if she timed it just right, if she could avoid the men for just a few more minutes, she'd get her view.

He worked late. He always worked late, it was his nature. He was a hard worker and a fine man. In fact, Elizabeth thought as she glanced around at the men in the Hall, he was more of a man than any of these gauche fools. A slow, easy smile spread across her face. There he was. When he thought no one was watching, he practiced. Elizabeth hadn't had much cause to be anywhere near the blacksmith shop as of late. Too many balls, too much propriety. She hadn't watched him practice in ages. She turned her head slightly to catch the rapidly approaching Captain Norrington in her peripheral. Cringing, she turned away from the window with a swish of her skirts.

"Captain Norrington," she said with an artificial smile. She liked to call it her 'society smile'. If she held it too long, it hurt her face.

"Miss Swann," he said, grasping her hand and laying a delicate kiss upon it. Elizabeth glanced over his shoulder while he was so occupied making friends with her hand. Her lips curled into a half-smile as she watched the sweat occasionally fly from his hair. Elizabeth knew a very little about swordsmanship, but she could tell that Will Turner was an excellent swordsman. It was in his form, the way he moved, the passion with which he practiced. It was as though he lived for his sword.

"Would you care for a dance?" Captain Norrington asked politely. Elizabeth almost didn't catch his question, so enthralled by Will's movements as she was. She forced her eyes to focus on Captain Norrington just in time to catch his bemused frown. He turned his head slightly and caught a glimpse of what she found so entrancing. His frown deepened.

"Miss Swann," he said with a warning lilt.

"Captain Norrington," she returned with equal warning. Her 'society smile' graced her face again and she interlocked her arm with his. "Shall we dance?"

Elizabeth could see on his face that her sudden increased interest in him was far more important than Will Turner. She was glad for it. If her father were to hear about her behaviour, she'd receive yet _another_ lecture on propriety. She knew enough of the world to know that in the eyes of men like her father, Will Turner was not a smart match. A boy with no past to speak of who washed up from a shipwreck and had grown to be a blacksmith? Not smart at all.

She allowed Captain Norrington to take her around the dance floor, only catching small glimpses of Will as she moved in time with each doctored dance step. How she longed to dance free! This structured, choreographed movement could hardly be called dancing. Secretly, she wondered if Will would dance free and wild. She wondered if he would give in to the mad movements of a pirate jig. He was finished practicing; she could tell because he had just lifted his shirt to wipe his sweating face, baring his chest in the distance. Again, her devious half-smile returned. _That_ was the true smile of Elizabeth Swann. _That_ smile, reserved solely for Will Turner. Solely for her secret pirate.

The dance finished at length and Elizabeth could see over Captain Norrington's bowed back that Will was preparing to leave for the night. She had a chance now, a chance to speak with him. She melted her face into a pitiable expression and noted that her plan had worked tolerably well when she saw concern in Captain Norrington's eyes.

"I'm afraid I'm suddenly feeling unwell, Captain Norrington. Would you be so kind as to find my father for me?" she breathed, trying to sound as weak as humanly possible.

"Yes, Miss Swann. Please, take my arm," Captain Norrington said quite valiantly. Internally, Elizabeth knew that she was unscrupulous and rather cruel. Captain Norrington was a fine man and, much to her chagrin, a potentially smart match. However, his crisp civility and smooth hands weren't what she wanted. Not even in the slightest. Truth be told, she rather preferred a man who was coarse around the edges, with rough hands and warm eyes. She rather preferred Will Turner.

"Elizabeth," her father said, surprised at her sudden illness.

"Please, father," she whispered pitiably. "I must return home. I am most unwell."

"Of course! Of course!" her father exclaimed, taking her from Captain Norrington's arm. "Thank you, Captain Norrington."

"Thank you," she whispered to Captain Norrington, again feeling the tiniest twinge of guilt. But, if society had its way she would be matched with him and never have a chance with Will, so why not take advantage while she still could?

Elizabeth hobbled to the carriage as convincingly as she could, but in her performance she almost missed Will. He was locking up as she hobbled, preparing to walk in the opposite direction. Elizabeth grimaced in frustration, her mystery illness suddenly forgotten. She dropped her father's arm and scurried into the middle of the road.

"Elizabeth!" he father called after her.

She stumbled most unexpectedly, but a strong arm caught her gently. She could feel the roughness and heat of his hands through the thin silk sleeves of her dress. Elizabeth looked up to find a pair of very concerned, warm brown eyes watching her.

"Are you unwell, Miss Swann?" he asked, his voice drenched with worry.

She couldn't help her smile, it was automatic and unstoppable. Elizabeth stood up straight and Will almost unwillingly released her arm. She already missed his touch.

"I am quite well now," she said after some pause, "Thanks to you, Will."

Ah, there it was. His sheepish smile. She simply adored it and more so, she adored how it was reserved solely for her.

"I'm glad to hear it, Miss Swann."

"Oh Will, how many times must I ask you to call me Elizabeth?"

"At least once more, Miss Swann."

"Elizabeth," he father huffed, having finally reached the point at which the pair was standing. He shook his head irritably noticing that _once again_ his daughter had hoodwinked him and _once again_ it was all to speak with Will Turner.

"Governor Swann," Will said, bowing his head. Weatherby Swann's mood altered slightly with the boy's good manners. At least _he_ had a sense of propriety, even if Elizabeth did not.

"I won't keep you," Will said, smiling woodenly. His eyes fell back upon Elizabeth, and as always, he looked surprised to find her watching him. Even though she always did. They could get lost in each other's smiles; smiles reserved for one another. Elizabeth loved to watch his wooden smile, his own 'society smile' she supposed, melt away when he looked at her. And, then, most unexpectedly it seemed that Will had forgotten that her father was standing right there.

"That is a _very_ lovely gown, Miss Swann," he said softly, his eyes twinkling. He bowed again to her father, "Good evening."

"Good evening, my boy," Governor Swann called after him. Try as he might, he simply couldn't help but like the boy.

"Good evening, Mr. Turner," she said softly to his back as he walked away. Carefully ignoring her father's lecture on smart matches, propriety and society, Elizabeth looked down at her dress as she sat in the carriage. She smiled slightly. No, it wasn't a dress, it was a _gown_ and he thought it was lovely. She ran her hands down the skirt on her lap, finally acknowledging the craftsmanship of the gown, and smiled a secret half-smile. Perhaps it really was exquisite, after all. Perhaps when next she meets him, she will tell him about the silver filigree.


End file.
